Desi Comments Poems

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Latest Poems


It should not have come early;
the death, had insulted the terrible suffering.
Shadows were lengthening.

I wanted to live
in infinite nothingness
of the wrong time.
Hope was not
a perforated dimension,
it was my religion.

When nobody was there
truth was walking with me.
A strange tragedy
was visible only to me.

The future hides in my face.
The terror is too much
with us. No frown of earth
defies the questions of past.

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You forgot the lines
and lineage. Getting all
or nothing, pulling away at the umbilical cord,
seeking liberty to commit a sin
or feeling liberated after committing the sin.

The tone embodies the elopement, unbound,
to invent the disorder
and divide the provocation.

Night was approaching with few stars,
flowing like the squealing of a dark saint,
blameless, under the thin breath
of the dying sun.

Into the orphanage enters the day
riding on the dust of history.
My journey begins into time
to change into another tomorrow.

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Inside me, I take a turn.
By tightening the noose
hangman feels liberated.

In the grave, charred mistakes
waking under the massive ashes
of slaughtered sun, grieve

for the light. Time was death.
Every lovely tree was time,
leaving footprints on our existence.

Seeing the stillness in total eternity
like the calm lake dying on the
other side of the truth.

Of the dismembered faith,
and fear of future, and action
to move with the higher lies.

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A dialogue with fear,
to end the thought,
was walking alone on the edge of death.
All the mercy of life was with it.

Gone were the waves,
whispering, back to the sea of mundane paucities.
The sky and the pain were there.
Again a question of collective guilt was rising.

So much noise was coming
without any resemblance
with the damaged certainties.
An act of voiceless jealousy was starting for the ethnic slur.

It will not disappear
a conjugation between light and dark.
Can truth annex the belief
with a half hitch?

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Becoming myself, pricking the soles
staying alive, frozen, mistless eyes.
I bite my tongue,
chewing the forbidden peel of
what you are.

Can you move with me?
With my atavistic welts?
Emptying yourself of all the poisons,
while the space was shrinking.
The golden gate is silently watching you.

Give me your hands for a quiet journey,
they are shouting to blow the dirty dreams.
Every thing is done for the vanity
of the naked paper
fluttering in the annotated fingers.

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Fate of Man

The roses you bring every morning
become an interval between hope and ending.
Thinking about it, impulsively I
contradict God against humanity.

Little murder here and there
of nihilism, sweet smell of faith,
taking any road to reach the climax,
to die for the zeroism.

An outsider becomes the altered hero,
you would find the unimaginable,
lamenting and bleeding, blunting
the eagerness, the spark.

We will inherit the crowned homes,
the brief interlude between crime and award.
The mud, the water, the slugs
will decide the fate of man.

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To go beyond global suffering,
find death in blue glacier
of frozen physicals.
Greed of elements, and attached commentary
on the burning, anonymously,
when you were in dock.

The unfolding of the negation starts
softly down the blissful oblivion.
False pretensions keep you alive amidst
the crowd, the only art of rebellion
in the depths of despair.

The arguments were rising every morning,
when all the doors were shut
and sun was hiding behind the hills.
A procession of self-styled prophets
marched in the wrap of chosen blessed
to find the antique
non-movement of the moment!

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You are not with yourself today.
Conversation was stopped, from cloud to cloud.
Now you know what you did not want to know.

No longer the pathless destiny,
comes near you, you go towards the
bushes to collect the ash, the burnt out
remains of a theme, a design, a horizon.

In memory of books, which are not read
by anyone now. Pages lay wounded. Black
stones trying to hear the sounds of dawn.
The tremors were increasing in the swampland.

The wolves were in howling rage. A daring
gift of death, tormenting the spirit, human
flesh, you watch through the twilight,
through the terror of betrayal. Each tear drop
sacrifices the eternity.

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Immensity of deviation was exploding.
Abruptly my frail frame collapsed.
I did not know the answers. I was lost
in my inner sanctum, full of hollow escapes.

The ugly ‘ism’ was devastating. Not in,
not out. I was blowing up in a burnt out moon,
pure as sin, prodding, writhing,
stuck in tar, melting in hot sun.

As a projection of inner violence, a psychopath
shoots an innocent on the temple, forsaken, revengeful.
No qualms for grazing the godhood,
the voice of sanity remains sitting on a toad stool.

The fairy rings are growing larger and larger,
sanaria shrinking. Epileptic paranoia overpowering
outside, I am sick, but relentless, the shadow disappears
in valley, down the memory. I let go the blurred spirit,
in a fit of rage, standing alone.

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Anointment of any prefix was hurting
I started shedding the names.

To fill the void, dialogues were not sufficient.
So many of thorns, without seeing,
in flesh, reading the closed mind, to
reach the inner blue.

After dark bloody spills on the rose petals,
you stagger on white tendons;
cracking the fright, peeling off the truth.
How nervous was the death to tread in.

In the pit, no sound, no hiding.
Deep down was hung a turmoil.
calling a name, when night was sad
and lightning was lifting the clouds.

The city of stones in me, the solar system
the galaxies, were stumbling out in defeat.

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